Mailbox

I want to mail you something
to test the distance;
count the seconds till impact.
Not a letter – the word proved too defiant.
A greater liaison to better serve
the wary temperance of solitude. And so
I reach through the hole at the end of the driveway
and far away an arm snatches dumbly at the air.

I want to mail you a bouquet of delicacy
to sidestep the noise of speaking,
common symbol of budding branch and nature’s readiness.
Root and bulb beneath the soil
mutely inch toward some future;
living repositories of vegetable gnosis.
I’ll include an unknown specimen
and never learn its name.

I want to mail you a basket of sensation,
after all, you and I are hardly commonplace.
Rich confection and storied jams
with handmade labels lovingly arranged beneath clear plastic.
Objects that encourage touch and generate a private warmth
surrounded in wet and steam like a proper shower,
buckle your knees and contort your face with accomplishment
to see you glisten in my fondness.

I want to mail you a catalog of memory,
after all, the physical is but a moment.
Mementoes serve as signposts leading back to where you once were.
The card I took from Barbuzzo, tickets to Natalie Portman,
these are topographical maps of a hidden kingdom.
The napkins I spun absently while searching for a better example
- indeed, entire transcripted conversations -
the real reason no one can replace you.

I want to mail you an envelope of petals,
after all, objects never swell with our investment.
A treasure removed for safe keeping
from trees that bore witness to our secrets.
An acceptance of the larger cycle, but something more.
Something I would myself wish to receive,
to recognize as I wish to be recognized
as both form and void together.

These things are not enough,
these tokens crumble as I name them.
The postal service cannot box this maelstrom, and matter
fails to connect our fingertips our faces. Eye to eye,
rather brainstem to brainstem, safe from abstraction.
The solution is from earlier in evolution,
close your eyes
I am beside you.